


Repeat Customers (the 5-star review on space yelp remix)

by mathelode (engmaresh)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Black Markets, M/M, POV Outsider, Pre-Rogue One, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engmaresh/pseuds/mathelode
Summary: It pays to keep loyal customer. Moreso when they're a Guardian of the Whills.
Relationships: Baze Malbus & Original Jedha Resident Character, Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27
Collections: Remix Revival 2020





	Repeat Customers (the 5-star review on space yelp remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurae/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Friends in Arms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24454507) by [Aurae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurae/pseuds/Aurae). 



“You again,” says Lobsang. Even if he didn’t recognise the man, what with the new growth of beard and all, he’d recognise the weapon. “What can I do for you today?”

“Dampener,” the Guardian grunts. As always, a man of few words. 

“Almost took your arm off, eh?”

Another grunt. Lobsang doesn’t need an answer; it’s obvious in the man's movements, shoulder stiff with pain, bulky with bandages. 

“You’re probably holding it wrong.” The fool shouldn’t be holding it at all. Still, Lobsang isn’t here to give his customers life advice. He trades weapons and parts and moves on. In his line of business, most people who land at his shop have made a lifetime of bad decisions anyway.

“Dampener,” the Guardian grunts again. “Less talk.”

“Yes, yes,” Lobsang assures him, and is already peering through his shelves. He knows he has the part, had already anticipated it after the Guardian had first come in. It pays to keep things like this in his head--makes for loyal customers, repeat customers, customers who won’t sell him out to the authorities. He’d put in the order when he’d sourced the parts the Guardian had asked for, but hadn’t used it in the weapon. No freebies, not even for repeat customers, not even when they overpay. 

“How much?” his customer rumbles as he lugs the part over to his worktable. This modification should be quick; since he has the parts he can do it here and now. Lobsang names his price and this time the Guardian pays with credits. Out of crystals? Lobsang’s a little disappointed, but it’s to be expected. The Empire has taken over the caves and controls all the trade of Kyber. Even for a former Guardian of the Whills, it has to be hard to come by these days.

He puts in the dampener and offers to walk the Guardian through to the back where he can test it out on some scrap, but the man shakes his head. Heads out again without another word. What strange man, Lobsang thinks, even for what he is.

*

The next time the Guardian returns, he brings along a friend. There’s a very put upon look on his face, one Lobsang recognised from his partner, who also wears that look every time they happen to find Lobsang particularly tedious.

“What is this charming place you’ve brought me to, Baze?” says the Guardian’s companion. He taps his staff against the corner of Lobsang’s counter and Lobsang knows him now--another Guardian, the other one. The last of them and they’re both in his shop.

“I didn’t bring you anywhere,” the Guardian Lobsang now knows as Baze grumbles. “You followed me.”

“The Force told me I should.”

“The Force told you nothing. You’re a nosy busybody, that’s what you are.”

The blind Guardian ignores the insult and slouches against the counter. He seems to be looking around, though Lobsang is sure he can’t actually see anything, not judging from the way his eyes are clouded over white. He knows nothing of what the Force is, even on living on Jedha all his life, but he’s heard it gives its adepts strange powers.

“Hello,” says the man. “My friend here,” and he tips his thumb back over this shoulder while Baze rolls his eyes, “needs some parts. He dropped his fancy gun off a cliff, see.”

Lobsang looks to the other man, and now that he’s not distracted...yes, the weapon does look like it has fallen from great height. Baze’s lucky it hadn’t exploded, especially if it’d still been loaded.

The Guardian unslings his bandoleer and sets the blaster heavily down on the counter. “Can it be fixed?”

“Uhh…” Looking at the state of it...at least it’s in one piece. Mostly.

“I’ll have to let you know.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” Wouldn’t do to keep this one waiting too long. “You have a comm number?”

The Guardian shakes his head. Lobsang isn’t sure if that’s a no, or if he won’t share it. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“Can’t do tomorrow!” pipes up the other one. “Tomorrow we are helping Sanara move. And then you need to fix Zik’s speeder. And those troopers at the outpost--”

He somehow catches Lobsang staring and winks at him. Lobsang decides to quickly forget he now knows who’s been raidingthe Empire outposts around Jedha.

“Fine,” Baze grumbles again, glowering. He gives Lobsang his comm frequency, then leaves the shop as quickly as he can, almost dragging his partner out by the scruff of his neck.

*

Lobsang trips and almost cracks his head against the counter in his rush. The troopers are gone for now, but he’s got only so much time before they’re back and this time they’ll catch him. The Empire isn’t _that_ incompetant.

They haven’t found the safe, since it’s buried in the wall, but it’s a near miss, part of the plaster broken and crumbling around a corner of the durasteel after they’d torn down some shelving. He doesn’t keep credits there, or anything that immediately looks to be valuable, but he’s squirreled away some rare parts and a semi-antique blaster he’d been waiting to get appraised.

A little too late for that now. Lobsang shoves all that into a pack and slings that over his shoulder. He takes a final look around his shop--it’s served him well--but it’s time to move on. Keha is going to hate him for it for a while, but then Keha should’ve known better than to marry a scoundrel like Lobsang, it's what he’s always been saying. He has an half an hour to meet them at the closest spaceport, and from there they can catch a transport out to Dantooine.

Since the shop is unregistered, and he hasn’t kept any incriminating documents lying around (he takes his ledger home each night), the Empire probably doesn’t even know who they’re looking for. They’ll probably make it out all right.

And that’s when things go wrong. Fuck. The blaster bolt almost hits him--the smell of burning hair fills the room as it singes off the tip of his topknot. Swearing, Lobsang drops to his hands and knees and starts scrabbling for the back exit, keeping as low as he can. They’re early, far too early from what he’s experienced in the past.

He crawls behind a retaining wall and takes several deep, if shaky breaths. He’ll get out of here. He’ll meet Keha as promised--fuck, Keha, he prays they haven’t gotten them too--and then they’ll be gone, having left this dustball far behind. 

“What kind of black-market arms dealer doesn’t actually carry any arms with him?”

Lobsang looks up at the deep baritone. He knows the voice, knows the man, and more importantly, knows the weapon strapped to his chest.

“Oh, thank the Force!” he exclaims, even though he doesn’t believe in it.

“Sure,” grumbles Baze. “Thank the Force, don’t thank me.”

“It’s the Force that brought us here,” says his companion cheerily, despite the blaster bolts that are now being aimed at him and his fellow Guardian. “Come now, my friend, unless you wish to stay.”

Of-kriffing-course not. Lobsang is tugged out from behind his makeshift shelter, and allows the blind Guardian to haul him from what’s left of his shop while Baze covers their retreat with some heavy firepower.

“At least you still have these arms, eh?” jokes the blind one, clapping Lobsang on the shoulders before taking off at a fast trot. Lobsang hurries after him. Despite his lack of sight, the other man passes through crowds like a fish through water, dancing past knots of people, or simply thumping them in the shins with his quarterstaff so that they jump out of his way in pain and surprise.

At one point Lobsang turns around to see if Baze is following them, but they seem to have left him behind with the Imperial Stormtroopers. 

“Don’t worry about Baze!” the Guardian says when he somehow catches Lobsang glancing behind them again. “He’ll catch up with us.”

They manage to get to the Jedha spaceport without further trouble, and the Guardian somehow gets them through a checkpoint by getting into a brief argument with someone’s Boonta steer. In a waiting room for a transport to Dantooine, they meet up with Keha.

“Oh, they found you!” they cry out upon seeing Lobsang and the Guardian. “I was worried.”

“Not getting rid of me that easily,” Lobsang tells them, almost giddy with relief, though he knows they’re not quite out of danger yet.

“Don’t take this ship,” says the Guardian. “Next wing over, heading to Bespin. Take that one.”

Lobsang trades a glance with Keha. They don’t have any contacts on Bespin, and he knows next to nothing about the market there for arms. But he trusts the Guardian. “Alright,” says Keha, taking the ticket chips. “Bespin it is.”

They shuffle over into the next waiting hall, and there, squeezing grouchily between a bantha’s rump and it’s Besalisk owner is Baze. His hair’s a little greyer with plaster dust but he looks otherwise unharmed, and is surprisingly alone. At this point Lobsang decides to stop questioning how these two make things work--he’s just going to be grateful that Keha’s safe and he’s not dead.

“Get off planet,” Baze rumbles at them. “Don’t come back.” Then to Lobsang alone, clapping him on the shoulder with a heavy hand, “Protect yours.”

Lobsang looks from Baze to his companion and nods, threading his fingers through Keha’s. “Yes,” he says. “Don’t drop that blaster off a cliff again.”

Baze nods, face stone, as though that’s advice he’s taking seriously to heart. His companion grins. The horn to board sounds, and by the time Lobsang’s turned back to them, they’ve already melted back into the crowd.

“Well,” says Keha, steering them into the check-in line. “Lucky you’re so good at schmoozing with the customers.”

It’s not just luck, thinks Lobsang, when they’re finally bunked down in their tiny cabin and he feels that odd tug behind his navel as the ship lurches into hyperspace. Luck doesn’t guide the world so carefully. There’s something greater at work behind this. He holds Keha a little closer, pressing his lips to the back of their neck. They’re safe. Time to set up shop elsewhere.


End file.
